


in this corner of the world

by softami



Series: let it be a dream [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Death, F/M, Hurt, Hurt Jake Peralta, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Whump, these aren't gonna b good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-06 05:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softami/pseuds/softami
Summary: Hurt Jake Peralta, basically, and in other character's POVs as well.Writing this because I'm not great at "hurt, no comfort" stuff.(deleted the other 'in this corner of the world' it wasn't good. shake hands and forget it?)(the chapter names will reveal a poem ((that i did not write, but cannot find the author)) at the end of chapter 15.)These are all oneshots, maybe twoshots!





	1. Hurt and pain

This town will never change. Criminals come and go, some serious enough to stay for decades. Jake ponders if that in another universe, the roles are switched. He would be the criminal robbing banks, while others are out to arrest him. He'd be a terrible criminal, he admits. 

But that doesn't mean he's a terrible cop.

On the contrary, actually, he's a great detective. Amy tells him that every other day. It's really sweet because she sounds so genuine about it, her eyes lighting up and the small blush that welcomes itself onto her soft cheeks.

But... since he's not a terrible cop, why is there  _so much pain_ that had lodged itself into his shoulder and right in the center of his chest. It's blinding, black and red spots clouding his vision as he sputters incoherent nonsense. Something syrupy is caked on his jacket, and coats the innards of his mouth and throat. He gags and wishes that  _someone_ were here, God, just  _anyone._

He can't move.  _He can't fucking move and it kills him._ He lays in a crumpled fetal position (almost), and as he does manage some movement a warm liquid spreads around his torso.

He tries to yell again, " _Cap-taaain,"_ he coughs out, "'nyone, please!" he cries and cries because it just hurts so badly. He knows he's been through stuff similar to this, and he's a cop so it does kind of come with the package, but Jake can't help but think that this could be his death. His final resting place as he sobs salty tears and blubbers gibberish along with waterfalls of blood spilling out of him.

Jake finally feels himself getting lost in a sea of nothingness, and it's oddly loud... with crinkles that could only come from a rough type of plastic. There's faint voices around him when he feels people tug at his clothes.

"Ammmmes?" he asks. 

Someone shuffles around his bleeding figure and presses something to Jake's injuries. "A-my?...Terr...-y?"

"Shh, babe, it's okay-" she says through thick tears, "you're gonna be fine, real, _real_ soon, okay? You got that? Stay with me, now," Amy begs, "please."

He wants to say something to confirm that,  _yes,_ he thinks,  _I did hear you, Amy. I'm trying._

Instead, it comes out as more of a moan. He lifts his hand to hers, opens his eyes for once in the past seventeen minutes, but Jake's hand falls slack before he can say anything. Not even an 'I love you'.

"No, no, Jake stay with me! Others are coming-  _ah shit!"_ She talks into a device hastily, checking Jake's pulse every few seconds and pressing harder into his wounds. "This is Detective Santiago and I- Detective Peralta needs medical assistance, stat!" She tries not to break, "Two gunshot wounds, one in the chest and the other in his left shoulder, come quick!" her mouth quivers as she speaks the last sentence, and prays that Jake will be okay.

They arrive a little later, and carry him away.

Amy can only sit and watch.


	2. There’s so much to gain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy talks to Jake, who doesn’t seem to be around.

Hey, Jake.

I know it’s late and all, and the kids are up and about but _really_ should be in bed, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I know you’re not here. Hell, I could be talking to this picture of you for nothing.

But it might help. 

Sweet little Eleanor keeps asking, _‘when is daddy coming home?’_

And I never have an answer _._

_’he’s working, and won’t be home for a really, really (really, really, really...) long time, baby. Sorry’_

Well, that’s all I had for her. Samantha asked the same thing. Same answer. Same sad look in her eyes when I say you won’t come back.

You’re gone. I wish you weren’t, but you are. 

The precinct wishes me luck on being a single mom, but I really think they’re just trying to make themselves feel better. (After your death, babe)

_((“Amy, are you sure? Surely sure? Positively absolutely most certainly sure?”_

_”Yes, Jake, this is the fifth test,” Amy breaths into his neck. “You’re a dad.”_

_”Well, in nine months!”_

_”Of course, hon.”))_

You were so excited to hold Eleanor for the first time. I remember the sweet but salty tears trickling down your face onto hers, and my, oh my, you wouldn’t stop making dad jokes. You never really did, I guess _._

Maybe I just can’t hear them.

_((“She’s so beautiful,” he tells her, “just like her mother,” he replies smoothly, a smug look on his face accompanying a soft smirk._

_”Oh, stop with the flattery, Peralta.”_

_”Aw, but why? It’s true.”_

_”Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you have to make the face. It’s weird,”_

_He scoffs to her._

_”It is!”_

_”Yeah, okay.”))_

I know it’s been months-two years- since your... passing, but my heart aches each day knowing that Sam never knew her dad, and Eleanor won’t have many memories of him.

...It should have been me.

You should be here, giving everything you’ve got. It wasn’t your time to go.

We all knew that.

But god decided he would break the game.

Anyway, Jake, it was nice speaking. Maybe another time?

For now, just wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love writing in second person.

**Author's Note:**

> ok, i might add more to this unless others want me to leave it to their imagination, which is okay.  
> leave me prompts!!


End file.
